A Bullet Runs Through It
by Corporal 'Spider' Hawthorne
Summary: Cpl. Alex Hawthorne is a quiet soldier that has just been recruited to the one-four-one. There she gradually becomes one of the team. She belongs here, but the team knows she's hiding things about her past. I love reviews! Female O/C


**A/N: Hello readers! Welcome to my very first fanfic! I hope you'll enjoy my story as I update and thanks in advance to readers and reviewers. I'm estimating this fic'll be about 20 chappies, give or take a few. NO pairings! If you take a few minutes to read, why not take another to review, right? Thanks again! **

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**It makes me sad, but I don't own COD or characters! :(**

I live in a duffel bag.

No kidding. I have for the past three years. In a way, it's nice to know I can sling my life over my shoulder and lug it wherever I'm deployed. I can fit everything I need into this excuse for a suitcase, including what I consider my most important possession from home: my iPod, which is plugged into my ears, playing Remember the Name. It's an aged song, I know, but it never gets old to me.

As for the packing situation, it's differs between people on this bus. One man, with dark blue eyes and auburn hair, is situated in the middle of the bus. He has four assembled on the floor in his seat space. Even though I can't see him at the moment, I know because he almost tripped up the stairs with them.

My bag isn't really my life. Just _this _life. I have a dad and a whole "family", I guess you could say, back home, and I'm going back to Las Vegas to live with my father temporarily until I get a place when I'm done here with whatever I'm doing here.

After watching the driver pick up the rest of our stops at various airports and going through my play list three times, I make sure one last time none of the other transfers come to the back or see me and try to relax. I fold my arms and cross my legs, hoping to relieve the tension in the stomach.

The vinyl materiel of the back of the seat in front of me has cracks in it, making me think of the San Andreas Fault. Grains of sand coat the edges of these grooves, probably because all the windows are open and we're propelled through the desert… on this bucket that's probably going to break down in the middle of nowhere, and then we'll be ambushed by nomads or something and then they'll have to send me back to the states in a box and-

"No chicks allowed, my friend!"

My head snaps up and I swear to myself, thinking that some guy had finally come in the back and found me and was ready to make enemies with me before we even got to the base. Or… maybe it's the nomads!

I realize after a second that no one's talking to me, and I'm slumped against the window, where I can see flashes of green from the budding trees bordering the road we're on. I _am _in the States. Sitting up, I shake the tiredness away.

A big beefy guy with red hair and angry brown eyes with a mean gleam is leaning over the guy with auburn hair over a seat and smiling down at him. I don't like the smile.

"Only the best are accepted into the one-four-one, angel face," he continues, "And I wouldn't want you breaking a nail while you're reloading." The smile changes to a leer. "If you even know how."

I can see the guy (whom I temporarily label "Angelface") shrinking millimeter by millimeter into his seat. His mouth is open a tiny bit, like he's trying to say something, but nothing will come out. The big dude leans in closer.

"You hear me? You don't belong here, ok? If I were you, I wouldn't even get off this bus. My nephew could throw you around! What do you _pack _in these bags?" He kicks one of the offending objects. As I watch this conversation and the other guys watching uncomfortably and looking at each other, a few tossing the larger man dirty looks, I realize that Angelface _is _a little small. He's maybe two inches or so taller than me, and I'm 5'7'. The offense in this situation, on the other hand, is easily six two and just plain _huge_.

I usually try to be a quiet person. I've learned what happens when you say something at the wrong time, you usually live to regret it. Nick-my dad-says I'm a brooder. But when something happens like this, I get angry. Seeing grown men acting like high school seniors trying to impress the girls is always infuriating to me.

"I appreciate your concern, but I didn't get a manicure this time. Sorry." The words are out of my mouth before I realize it. I'm standing up now, leaning forward over my seat, with a fake smile plastered over my face. _Damn! Always saying the wrong thing to the wrong person! _The man's head pops up and for a second he glares at me. Then his jaw falls open.

A laugh breaks the silence. "Looks like your talking to the wrong chick, Joshua." Everyone in front starts laughing, while Joshua remembers his jaw is still unhinged and pulls his mouth closed. He's in the narrow isle in a second and is heading back towards me.

When he reaches me he stays silent for a second. I'm a little nervous because I didn't feel like fighting. I have enough to worry about and that would _not _impress my C.O.'s. Still standing, I try to keep my balance as the driver tries in vain to avoid the potholes in the road. I decide that I don't need to show this guy respect and keep my headphones in my ears.

"You're… not here for the same reason as us?" It's more of a question than a statement. "To train. Fight." He looks temporarily confused, taking in my simple tank top, faded cargos, and steel toe boots. This outfit has been through a lot, so I probably don't look that wonderful. His eyes flick to the Desert Eagle strapped to my thigh. I'm glad I've at least managed to pull my hair into such an orderly ponytail , with practically no strays. I feel more confident when I'm in my "kick-ass outfit", a description Nick felt matched my appearance at the time he saw me in it. "I wouldn't be here if I wasn't."

"But girls can't do this! That's…" He looked embarrassed again. Yeah, he's definitely Mr. Meaty to me, forever and always.

"Insurmountable? Ridiculous? Not physically possible?"

He straightens so I have to look up at him. "Exactly! There's no way you can do this." He laughs "You'll probably pass out from heat exhaustion before we start!"

I let out a hiss of anger and open my mouth to let out a string of angry retorts. I served in Afghanistan for a while and while the climate in this region is hot and dry as well, someone suggesting my lack of efficiency without a justified reason is when I willingly throw myself into an argument, no matter the consequence. Right before I can release my anger, the bus jerks to a stop. He goes flying backwards and almost topples over before using some seats five rows down to stop himself, which is worth me pitching forward and slamming into my seat as well. Bedlam ensues as the whole vehicle erupts into chaos, with guys complaining about spilled personal items, heads connecting with windows and some laughter directed at Joshua.

My iPod clip disconnects with my tank top and falls when I lean back, yanking the headphones out of my ears. I lean down to catch it and hit my head on the top of the seat in front of me.

_Ow_! Now my forehead is sore and I feel incredibly stupid, but at least I caught my iPod. As I evened myself out, I saw the bus door had opened and a figure stands at the head of the bus next to the still seated driver.

A man in full combat gear and a skull balaclava with red tinted sunglasses folds his arms and glares at us. I'm only guessing if he's glaring, but the position his head is in tells me he probably is. All of the guys in front of me snap salutes, so I follow suit. After tilting his head and signaling for us to relax, he marches out of the bus, and for a few seconds we all stand there looking at each other. Joshua has slid into his original seat and Angelface is running a hand through what hair he has.

A voice thunders from outside, making a few of the more paranoid men flinch.

"_What _are you _waiting _for? Get out here now!"

I know without thinking this is skull face, a.k.a. my C.O. I wonder for a moment why he has an accent, then remembering that the 141 is a multi-national organization. _Duh, Alex._

I slide my iPod into my pocket quickly, not sure if it's against regulations or not. Better safe than sorry. Though it's not some illegal contraband, I'd probably be better off not strolling around with it. After checking my standard distribution knife in its sheath and grabbing my bag, I hop out of my seat and try to head towards the front, getting jostled back and forth by a bunch of much larger guys. I'm suddenly near the back again with Angelface, who is struggling to balance all of his bags. I stick out my hand.

"Hey. I'm Corporal Alex Hawthorne. 1st Battalion, 75th Ranger Regiment. Or… I was." I smile.

Angelface breaks into a grin and takes my hand before almost dropping all of his bags. "Sergeant-whoa!- Gary Sanderson."

I take two of the bags he dropped and put mine on fully, then slinging another over each shoulder, making a mental note of his authority over me.

"Well, Sergeant, looks like you need a little help." He smiles. "Are you sure you ok with those?" I nod. "People won't think it's too weird for me, right? Girl has to lug their whole house with them everywhere, or so I've been told."

I stand on my tiptoes, trying to see around or over him. I'm perplexed as to why that man is wearing a balaclava at his base. I'm guessing he's trying to impress us.

"Don't you think his mask is a little weird?"

I shrug this time indifferent. "Where I grew up, that looks almost normal."

Gary raises his eyebrows. "Where was that?"

"Las Vegas."

We stop talking as we exit the bus and line up outside. Mr. Balaclava is standing next to the bus front. I count sixteen of us, including me. "My name is Ghost," snaps the guy in the mask, starting to pace up the row, "I am your lieutenant and your C.O.; therefore you will listen to what I have to say." He stops suddenly, in front of Joshua.

"What's your name?"

"PFC Joshua Gibson, sir!"

He moves on, to me. "Name."

"Corporal Alex Hawthorne, sir."

"You seem to have an awful lot of bags, Corporal."

I can feel Gary stiffen next to me. I know he feels bad, which is a bit amusing considering we've known each other for maybe half an hour.

"Yes, sir!"

"And why is that, Corporal?"

_Crap_.

"I, um, like to be prepared for anything, sir." I say boldly, cursing myself for talking back to my C.O.

A crease appears in the balaclava 6 inches away from my face. I think it's an actual smile.

Ghost turns to everyone else. "You're all dismissed," he said, "except for you three. You stay here." He gestures in the general direction of me, Joshua, and Gary.

Wonderful.

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